Vice
by EmotionlessNightmare
Summary: Set 2 years from 2x10. Ever since her brother became king, Eleanor's put her best foot forward to remove every vice from her life. Every vice except for one.
1. Chapter 1

In the twenty four months that has passed since her twin brother, Liam, the King of England, introduced a historic referendum in parliament for his subjects that had been put forth by their father before his untimely death. The United Kingdom chose to _keep_ their monarchy instead of abolishing it, and Eleanor's taught herself to do a number of _normal_ things to try and stabilize her life to prove to her subjects that they had not done the wrong thing by taking a chance on allowing their family to continue to reign.

 _Just in case_ , she had insisted.

She's taught herself how to drive, because God forbid she actually has to take the public transportation for any reason other than a publicity stunt. She'll take her Range Rover to the grave, if she has to.

While living among the plebs might have been welcomed by Liam, it wasn't going to be the same for her. She's become accustomed to a certain lifestyle and was in no rush to give it up, title or no title. Besides, the tube was notoriously filled with people and there was _nothing_ Eleanor hated more than being forced to interact with chatty people when she would prefer to blend in with her surroundings.

She's learned how to cook with the help of the palace chefs, and she isn't completely terrible at it. She can cook a hell of a late night meal and proudly showed off her newfound skills to her family, but prefers leaves regular preparations to their chefs. She feels less like an invalid that way.

However, Eleanor has become best at making it look like that she's moved on from the drama that was her life in the first few years following the deaths of Robert and her father. Nobody plays the part of a doting, quick-witted, patron-of-the-arts princess better than she does.

So while Liam cozies up to his new bride, Eleanor still goes to bed alone, and has been for several months now.

For the better part of the last two years if she were going to be honest with herself.

She tries to not let it bother her. After all, she has a big role to play in this monarchy that _her_ people claimed to still want. Liam gave them the royal wedding they wanted. She had shown up and smiled and said how happy she was that her brother had found true love and happiness in their new reality.

 _His_ invitation had come back declined, and Eleanor pretended she didn't even know that _he_ had been invited in the first place.

James still keeps in touch with _him_ and has an awful habit of dropping tidbits of gossip, on purpose, to gauge her reaction.

Like the fact that he had moved back to the southwestern United States and was now working in a cushy intelligence job that he had likely come by with with a little aid from the palace.

Or how he had met someone new.

And that after eight months of dating, proposed to her.

 _And that this mystery bitch said yes._

Eleanor put her foot down after that. She's never once raised her voice to James in anger. In the midst of the unbroken stream of tears streaming down her cheeks, she told him to shut his mouth about _Jasper Frost_ if he knew what was good for him. It was the last time she had said his name out loud.

She suspects that Liam keeps tabs on him too, but for different reasons.

Eleanor knows how to Google, and she's since learned how easy it was to stalk people on Facebook. With a fake account she's made since she isn't allowed to have one of her own.

She's quick to track down one Lindsay Rhodes from Las Vegas, Nevada. _Born and bred_ , her bio blurb said. Lindsay Rhodes is a slight, light-haired brunette who likes jogging and Coldplay and is too fair for the shade of red lipstick she is seemingly wearing in every fucking photo.

Lindsay Rhodes appears to like cooking, and stupid DIY projects from a site called _Pinterest_. A girl who wants to have a _homey_ home, and is excited about her upcoming nuptials and buying a home in the suburbs. A yard, not a condominium.

She is a woman who shares far too many dog pictures, but is well informed on world events and holds her own in discussions or debates considering she's a fucking journalist.

 _So, what in the flying fuck does she have in common with Jasper Frost and how did she bag him? Did her pussy write the Declaration of Independence or something?_

Lindsay's Facebook page leads her down a dark road she's been avoiding for months now and she's quick to learn that while his new fiancée seems to not understand what Facebook security settings are, Jasper Frost damn well does. His own page doesn't show his face in his profile photo; instead a shadow of his tall, well built figure standing off in the distance in the Nevada desert. Naturally, it was was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Probably for reasons like this one.

And he'd damn well know who _Matilda Simon_ was if she happened to _accidentally_ send him a friend request.

Eleanor firmly believes is many things, but a homewrecker definitely is not one of them.

* * *

" _I haven't been stateside in so long. I just want to relax on the beach. I want to see,_ " she whines when she informs James she wants to go California. _Alone_. " _I just need a break from all of this. I haven't stopped for two years!"_

" _Don't do this, Eleanor," Liam later warns her. "You're going to get hurt."_ He's saying it without really saying it. Liam may not be the brightest tool in the shed at times, but he knows damn well what the next state over from California is.

She needs to know if he's happy without her. She's tried moving on. She's tried throwing herself into other activities, and none of its worked. She needs to get herself the closure she needs the only way she knows how.

Which leads to her current location; sitting in an overcrowded _Starbucks_ off of the Las Vegas Strip with the latest edition of American _Vogue,_ a fat-free latte, not a stitch of makeup, and an old baseball cap she stole from Liam to shadow her face.

James emailed her this morning and told her that _that_ location might hold a particular point of interest for her, if she were to happen to end up in Nevada. Something about this exact location having the kind of _tea_ she liked that not every location carried anymore, despite knowing full well she stopped drinking tea a long time ago and switched to coffee.

She's been there all morning, not knowing what she was waiting for, if anything at all.

" _Is this chair taken?"_

Eleanor's head snaps up, and her lips part in shock as the girl in front of her stares back, slightly alarmed by her reaction.

"Er, no," she says quickly. "Go ahead it's all yours," she waves her hand, indicating she can take it. The other woman nods, her long loose, brown curls- _darker than her pictures suggested- a recent dye job?-_ bounce as she takes the chair over to a group of other women chattering away about something she can't hear.

 _He_ definitely has a type.

She carefully closes her magazine and drains her latte. She contemplates getting another, but decides against it. She needs to get out of there. She's already treading in dangerous waters.

He'd descend on her like a demon straight from the fires of the ninth circle of Hell if he found out that she was in Vegas, ignoring him and stalking his fiancée.

Eleanor sighs, and throws out her paper cup and half-read magazine and leaves the coffee shop without a backward glance.

She just wants to see, and so she'll be back tomorrow.

* * *

On the fourth day, a Saturday, _he_ comes in with her. They're both dressed as if they've been out for their morning jog. He looks good in his tight black jersey and loose black running pants.

Jasper gets a venti black tea, and adds a splash of milk, and takes a paper from a nearby table and settles into an armchair across the cafe. She changes her seat so her back is to him as she fiddles nervously with her iPhone.

" _That girl in the black hat? She's been here every morning, in the same spot, for the past four days._ "

Immediately, Eleanor's back goes rigid. She can practically feel the colour drain from her face.

She needs to leave. _Now_. She's caught between a rock and a hard place. If she turns around, he'll immediately know it's her. If she doesn't, a potentially worse situation could arise and raise more questions than it would give answers.

" _So?"_

" _So_ Jas, she's _English_. British. I've heard her speak. She always looks so sad. Like she's waiting for someone to show up and keeps being let down."

"That's unfortunate," Jasper replies with disinterest; his tone takes on that all-too-familiar edge it gets when he's irritated by something. There are millions of scrawny brunettes from England. There's no way it's _her_. Princess Eleanor would not go stateside without an official statement being issued by the palace, accompanied by a detailed itinerary. Americans would fawn. She would bask in the attention, because clearly Liam's lost his goddamn mind by letting his sister go on an overseas tour. _Alone_.

She's hardly left continental Europe since Liam's been crowned King. She wouldn't just show up in Vegas, not after all of this time. "Why don't you go join her if you're so interested in her story, Linds. Maybe she needs a friend?"

She's not daft; she know it's her cue to leave. Eleanor scrambles to her feet and gathers her rucksack and phone before beelining it to the bathroom. She locks herself inside the stall furthest away from the door as her body racks with silent sobs, her hand covering her mouth.

 _Of course they have a bloody routine._

Jasper never have that with her. He'd never be able to go out for a bloody Saturday morning run by himself if he were with _her_.

Hell, she can't remember the last time she went for a recreational jog, if ever. Jasper had been up and gone for a treadmill run in the family's gym before she had even considered getting up for the day. _Had she really neglected Jasper's needs that much? Had they ever discussed her actually working out with him, ever_? Liam played polo. He was the athletic one. She and Robbie preferred to watch Wimbledon from the stands and make a scene for Andy Murray.

She lines the toilet seat with paper and sits down on it as the door slowly opens. Someone goes into the stall next to her and does their business as if she's not there.

Eleanor knows she can't stay in the toilet all day. She can't stay in there longer than ten minutes before it starts to look embarrassingly suspicious.

Her phone vibrates in her bag and she draws it out and sees James' name flashing on the screen.

' _Just got an interesting call,'_ his text reads. ' _You wouldn't happen to be locked in a Starbucks toilet in Vegas, Princess?'_

 _No, why? Have you finally gone mad? I'm in Malibu,_ she replies, and sends him a selfie she took six days ago on a beach.

He doesn't reply. She doesn't know that he screencaps her response and sends it to the man standing outside the door standing next to the payphone.

She waits another three minutes, and fishes her sunglasses out of her backpack and jams them on her face as she leaves.

They're gone.

This time, Eleanor knows she can't come back.

* * *

It takes James three days to give her a new location to haunt.

A popular delicatessen near some government offices off of the Strip. Famous for their smoked meat on rye.

 _His_ favourite.

Eleanor hates bread, so she gets a cobb salad instead and slides into the booth the furthest away from the counter, leaving enough room for her to see who is coming and going as she scrolls through the latest entertainment headlines on her phone.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?!" His voice is stern, disembodied, and perfect as her fork slips from her fingers and clatters on top of the table.

"I'm eating, _Jas_ , what does it look like I'm doing?" she replies, and doesn't look up at him. She can't. Not yet. Instead picks her fork up and shovels a forkful of salad into her mouth to further emphasise her point.

"You can't be here. Not now. _Go home, Le- Eleanor_. Whatever sick game you're playing here, it ends _now_. Do you understand me?" He grows, and drops his finger on the table in front of her to further emphasise his point.

Still, she refuses to look at him. Instead, she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth and selects a news story about the public approval rating of the new Prime Minister.

Eleanor doesn't answer and he lets out an exasperated sigh, and drops down into the seat across from her, and rubs his face with his hands.

She continues to eat and pretend to read. When she is done, she drops her fork into the bowl with a loud clatter and pushes it away, and finally raises her eyes to his.

They're red rimmed and bloodshot, as if he hasn't slept properly in days. _Years, even._

They look like her own on a good day.

She briefly stares at Jasper Frost like he's a tall glass of cold water in the middle of the Sahara. She catches herself, and immediately stonewalls him.

"Why are you here?" He asks carefully. Trying a different, less confrontational angle this time.

Eleanor opens and closes her mouth several times, and looks away. "I-..." She trails off.

 _Wanted to see you._

He waits for her, his perfectly groomed eyebrows raised.

"Does she know about me?"

"No." his answer is simple, although the damage to her heart it carries is just as destructive as the weight it carries.

Her brows knit together and her mouth forms into a frown.

"Okay." She answers lamely, choosing to be just as curt as he is, and begins packing her things into her bag. Eleanor turns her head away from him, her hair falling between them creating an unstyled barrier and somehow her

"That's it? That's all you got?" He says suddenly, his voice sounds borderline desperate all of a sudden. "Jesus Christ Eleanor, it's been two goddamn years. Did you honestly expect me to sit around and hope that you'd change your goddamn mind and take me back?! _You're the one who-_ "

" _Oh my god_."

They both look up in alarm to see Lindsay staring at them, her jaw slack. A smoked meat on rye is in her hands as she takes in the scene in front of her.

Clearly, she had hoped to catch him before he showed up to get his own lunch. _How precious._

"Sorry," Eleanor offers halfheartedly and moves to slide out of the booth. Jasper's hand darts across the table and curls his fingers tightly around her wrist, holding her in place. "Let me go Jasper," she hisses.

"No. You're _not_ doing this, Eleanor. Not here," his voice is just as cold as her own. He's using _that_ voice he has- when he's trying to distance himself from her on purpose. She briefly wonders if he's like this with Lindsay too.

"I'm going home," she tries, trying to wrench her arm free, but he's not loosening the grip he's got on her. "I made a mistake- _Jasper_ \- you're going to draw attention-"

"You two know each other? Have _you_ been stalking me or something you psycho bitch?!" Lindsay finds her voice and rounds on Eleanor, clearly not realizing _who,_ or _what_ the hell she is.

Eleanor recoils, clearly taken aback. No one has ever spoken to her out of turn like that. _Ever_.

Jasper loosens his grip on her as if he's just realized he's in the middle of a stare down between his fianceé and ex-girlfriend. Eleanor seizes the opportunity to wrench her hand back so she can escape.

She wonders if she even knows that her fiancé spent three years in the United Kingdom. In the palace. Her palace.

People are starting to stare, and she's getting nervous. It's only a matter of time before she's recognized and this situation only gets worse.

He knows it, too.

"Where is your security detail?" He demands suddenly, his eyes sweeping the room as if he expects someone to pop out of nowhere and extract her from the situation so he doesn't have to.

"I didn't bring one." She fires at him and doesn't hold back. " _James trusts me, you see."_

"You're _not_ my problem anymore. _You're not_ ," he says more to himself than anything through gritted teeth. Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to control his erratic breathing. To contain himself from causing an international incident.

" _Who is she, Jasper_?" Lindsay repeats, her eyes now unwavering from her own.

" _Princess_ Eleanor Henstridge," he says sarcastically with a wave of his hand as he rises to his feet. "Sit your goddamn scrawny ass back in that booth or so help me God, Eleanor. I'm calling someone _right now_ to bring you a goddamn car. _You_ _will_ go straight to McCarran and _you will_ get back on the fucking jet you flew in on, do you understand me?"

" _Princess Eleanor_?" Lindsay echoes incredulously, and the sudden realization of _why_ Eleanor has such a familiar face sets in. "What the hell? How do you even know her, Jasper? This doesn't make any sense! What are you not telling me?! Did you fuck her or something?"

Eleanor suddenly _\- and obediently_ \- sits back down and drops her face into her hands. She's drained and overwhelmed. She knows can't handle anymore of this, because Lindsay doesn't know. She doesn't fucking know his burdens. About what he's done _to_ her. What he's done _for_ her, and her family.

About who she was to him.

Who he was to her.

She knows nothing.

 _Just Jasper and his fucking lies_.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, two CIA agents enter the restaurant, and escort her out. They inform her that her belongings were collected from the hotel, and the royal jet is on standby, _just like she requested._

Once she's on board, she locks herself in the bedroom at the back of the plane for the duration of the flight. She curls up on the bed as her body shakes with two years worth of bottled up emotions.

She's been working on herself this whole time to be a better person for him, instead of the selfish, immature emotionally unavailable bitch that she was when they met.

 _If she couldn't love herself, how could he have possibly loved her?_

Liam picks her up at the airport, and he can see right away on her face that she did _exactly_ what she said she wasn't going to do.

He doesn't say a word the whole ride back to the palace, instead, he holds her hand as she stares ahead and remains silent. They both know if he asks, she'll break again.

She's come back alone, and it's the only answer Liam needs.

* * *

Eleanor doesn't leave her room for three days following her return. She cuts four lines of cocaine on a hand mirror, but can't bring herself to snort it. It's been too long. She's come too far. She dumps it into the toilet and sends it down to the sewers, and drinks two bottles of vodka instead.

There's an old, grainy mobile phone photo she printed off ages ago, and she keeps it in the top drawer of her vanity. The two figures in it are lying in her bed, and the handsome, blonde man is looking at the pretty brunette with smug adoration. She can see the love in his eyes. The young woman smiles a rare, genuine smile at the camera as she lies on her back in the crook of his arm as his fingers play with the ends of her hair.

They were naked. She took it the night before her mother's masquerade, after a particularly good round of sex. She had _finally_ gotten him to smoke a joint with her. They were six months in, and she had _finally_ begun to accept him into her life as something more than just her blackmailing bodyguard.

A boyfriend, of sorts.

Eleanor rips it in half, and throws it in her fireplace and watches their two happy expressions go up in flames.

* * *

On the fourth day, her mother springs into action.

"It's been nearly three years since he's left Eleanor," Helena breezes as she yanks the blankets off of her daughter and open the drapes to let some much needed light into her bedroom. "I've lived with what you're feeling now for the past _thirty-four_. It doesn't get easier my darling, but you will _try and pretend that it will_."

And she does. She gets Rachel to fill her calendar up again and she visits with the elderly, opens art galleries, and plays with children at their schools and reads them stories about princesses who wear paper bags and live much more fulfilling lives than she does.

Eleanor always smiles in pictures, but it never quite reaches her eyes.

* * *

She swore she would never be like her mother.

At least her mother had married the King, and was able to keep her lover on the side, in secret.

Eleanor has neither.

She hasn't touched her computer since she arrived back. She doesn't want to push herself into a deeper depression because she knows she'll ultimately end up back with her old vices.

But not the one she wants.

* * *

The months go by and Christmas draws nearer.

She wonders when their wedding is.

It could have very well already taken place for all she knows.

Nobody dares to mention his name in her presence, but she knows they talk.

On Christmas Eve, Willow announces she's pregnant.

She's going to be an aunt.

Liam is going to be a father.

She's no longer going to be the spare, and Eleanor finally realizes that the world is moving on without her.

She goes to bed early.


	2. Chapter 2

Eleanor is asleep in the middle of her bed buried deep under the duvet when her door creaks open. She's always been a light sleeper. Flinching awake, she fights her way out of her blankets and sits up as the light from the corridor streams in, and _he's_ standing there, looking haggard in her doorway wearing a pair of jeans, black thermal shirt, and grey jacket. "What is this? A fucked up version of _A Christmas Carol?_ How did you even get in here?"

"You wish," he mutters, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, and secures the lock.

The tungsten ring on his left hand glistens in the moonlight and doesn't go unnoticed.

Eleanor curls back into her bed and shuts her eyes. _This isn't real. It's a nightmare._

The sounds of rustling fabric fills the air, signalling that he's removing his clothing. She cracks an eye open.

His trousers to the floor with a light _thud_ and Eleanor makes no move to stop him.

Jasper slips into her bed beside her and his cool hands immediately seek her out, desperate to pull her to him. Somewhere inside her brain she knows this isn't right. He's married. They're not together. They're not anything.

She's always been selfish. She's missed him. She wants him. _Badly_.

Her mouth is on his in a flash. Her fingers rake through his unstyled blonde hair, pulling his mouth impossibly closer to her own. Their teeth mash together. Their kisses are sloppy. Neither of them seem to care.

 _He's here._

 _With her._

Jasper's already naked and gloriously hard against her thigh as he blindly paws at her silky sleep shorts, effortlessly ripping them away from her body.

There's no time for protests.

He pushes her onto her back, and then he's inside her with little preparation. It _really_ fucking hurts because it's been so long, and because he's so big.

It doesn't take long for them to find their old tempo. Her fingers lace with his amongst the sheets over her head. His hips keep her pinned against the mattress as he continuously pounds into her, his breath coming out in hot, quick pants against her neck. He can't look at her.

She wants to mark him, but she knows that she can't.

She comes.

He comes.

He holds her in his arms until she falls back asleep.

Jasper's gone by daybreak, and he's left without saying goodbye.

If it weren't for the throbbing, dull ache between her thighs and the crumpled receipt from room service for a suite at _The Blakemore on Hyde Park_ on the floor by the sofa, she would have thought it nothing but an cruel erotic dream.

Jasper's been less than forty-five minutes away from her the entire time, and hasn't said a damn word. She has no idea how long he's been in London, or how long he's staying.

It dawns on her then that he must have come through the tunnels, because security would have called and given her a heads up that she had a visitor at such an hour.

Eleanor Google's the name of his hotel room in the early hours of Christmas morning on her iPhone, naked on the floor with her back against the foot of her bed, the crumpled piece of paper clenched tightly in her small fist.

It's the Honeymoon Suite.

* * *

Eleanor creeps into her mother's bedroom shortly after eight in the morning, sobbing. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she's haphazardly dressed herself in her robe and little else.

The Dowager Queen doesn't ask why her only daughter is in tears on Christmas morning.

Helena's already known for weeks, and has been dreading this moment ever since James Hill passed on the news that a certain ex-bodyguard married some no-name Las Vegas journalist.

She knows that _Frosts_ ' are in London for the holidays, because _Team Henstridge_ had to work extra hard to keep Eleanor away from any events in central London as a precaution.

There was sound reasoning behind why they decided to light the Christmas Tree in Oxford instead of London this year. It wasn't worth the risk, and both she and Liam knew it. One look at _them_ , and they knew all the progress that Eleanor's made over the past two and a half years would be shot to hell.

Both mother and son know that _she's_ the most fragile out of all of them.

Instead, she sits up and allows her twenty-four year old daughter climb into her bed and sob loudly into her chest. She sounds so broken.

Eleanor reeks of sex.

It's a vaguely familiar scent that she's smelled in her daughter's room years before.

There's only one person whom it could belong to.

Helena kisses the top of her daughter's head and holds her a little tighter as a result.

She never wanted her little girl to have her life. Not by a long shot.

Eleanor deserves to be loved out of all of them the most.

But not in this way.

* * *

Eleanor sits in the background of Liam's Christmas Day address next to her mother. Her hair is straightened, her makeup is done, and she's wearing a pretty black dress.

She looks like the morning's events never occurred, and Liam's completely oblivious to the fact that just four short hours ago, she was crying in her mother's bed because of Jasper Frost.

Eleanor's in mourning for a number of things, but nobody needs to know about them.

She bitterly hopes that they're watching. The King's Christmas Day address is broadcasted live on every major network in the United Kingdom.

Eleanor considers taking his name off of the Palace's access list, but decides against it because she's a glutton for punishment.

He doesn't come back.

* * *

A while later, Liam announces that Willow is pregnant, and the country rejoices at the prospect of a new royal baby and a new era.

Eleanor steps back and allows Willow to take over some of her charities that are more family focused. They don't need her.

The people want to see their new Queen.

Princess Eleanor isn't as relevant as she used to be.

When she realizes this, she breathes a sigh of relief.

* * *

Four months later, she takes a trip to New York City. _Alone_.

She has gotten wind of a summit that he was going to be working at. For security reasons, of course.

She books a suite at _The Four Seasons_ and leaves his name at the front desk, pointedly tells James where she is, and waits.

And waits.

Jasper shows up on the third night.

"I miss you," Eleanor admits as he approaches her. She's lying in the middle of the king size bed, reading a lengthy email from Liam on her phone. She's still wrapped up in the hotel's terrycloth robe.

"Not as much as I miss you, princess," he replies easily.

He reaches forward, _boldly_ \- and slowly undoes the sash around her waist as if he were unwrapping the most delicate gift. His eyes are on hers. He's waiting for her to tell him to stop. To tell him that this isn't right. Her glittering green

She likes how he can make her title sound like an endearment.

There's no apology offered for what happened at Christmas, and neither want to discuss it. They can't. Not yet.

His eyes scan over her slim figure- almost memorizing her- as she confidently lounges back on her elbows. Her flesh still tinged pink, fragrant and warm from the hot bath she just took.

"You don't deserve _this_ , Len." He sighs as he moves to undo the button on his jeans. "You deserve someone who can love you _all_ of the time."

Jasper's trying to give her an out, but she doesn't want it. Whatever is starting _now-_ it's not going to stop. She doesn't want it to. He doesn't want it to.

There's no one else. There never will be.

"Jasper," she sighs, parting her legs as he climbs on top of her, and settles himself between them. " _You_ already do."

She can feel him smile against her neck, and his gentle assault on her skin stops for a moment, and his hands still on her bare hips; thumbs stroking her protruding hipbones. "You're right. I do."

Eleanor isn't strong enough to ask him to leave his wife for her.

Jasper has a whole other life outside of this hotel that she knows nothing about, and he doesn't come forward with information about it because she doesn't ask.

It's better this way.

* * *

He wraps her up in her silk robe, and orders her room service. She tells him about what's been going on in the palace and her life, as if he doesn't already know. How she adores James' eleven year old daughter, Sarah, and that she helps her with her homework on Wednesdays, and then she takes her horseback riding.

It's her favourite day of the week. She doesn't tell anyone that but him.

Sarah actually likes _her_ , and she's just tickled that the Princess wants to hang out. Sarah thinks that Eleanor is hilarious. She's bookish and doesn't have many friends at her private school, so she doesn't tell anyone that her best friend is the twenty-four year old emotionally detached and unavailable Princess.

Eleanor doesn't tell anyone that _her_ best friend is a bright, overly optimistic eleven year old girl who sees the world as a half-full glass instead of an empty bottle.

Jasper doesn't voice it, but he likes the way her eyes light up when she talks about James Hill's young daughter. Her tone is brighter, and she's animated in a way he's never seen her be before. To him, she's never been more beautiful.

* * *

He spends the next four nights with her, and it's the same routine. Eat. Discuss everything _but_ his life. A few rounds of sex, and then they sleep soundlessly, wrapped up in each other.

The cool metal of his wedding band on her bare skin makes her uncomfortable, but she doesn't ask him to take it off while he's with her.

Eleanor will atone for her sins one day.

Jasper tells her that he has to go back to Las Vegas the next morning, and that he will miss her. He leaves her a mobile number that he instructs her to text him on when she arrives back in the United Kingdom.

They don't know when they'll see each other next.

She stays in New York for two more days, and doesn't leave her room.

He's left one of his t-shirts behind, and she sleeps in it every night until his scent disappears.

* * *

She texts him when she lands in London, but Jasper doesn't reply.

A few months later, Liam and Willow find out that they're having a boy, and they're going to call him Simon.

Eleanor cries for a multitude of reasons.

She tries to phone Jasper, but the it goes to straight to voicemail and she doesn't leave a message because it's his work mobile.

He calls back when she's asleep, and apologizes for waking her up and asks what's wrong.

She tells him Liam's news, and he's silent for several minutes on the other end. Eleanor doesn't ask if he's still there, because she can hear him breathing.

"Eleanor?" he says finally, his tone sounds just as broken as she feels, because _he knows_.

"Yes?" she whispers into the mouthpiece, gripping her iPhone tightly in both hands as she lies in the fetal position in the middle of her bed.

 _"It'll be okay, Len. I'll see you soon. You know I lo-"_

She can hear a door opening in the background, the sound of a barking dog, and then line goes dead.

* * *

Jasper's coming to Paris to assist with setting up security for the upcoming climate conference, and asks if she can meet him there.

It's extremely close to Willow's due date, and it's a risky move because there's going to be a ton of media in the city. Eleanor doesn't give two shits about climate change because she doesn't understand, and she doesn't want to. Science was never her thing and she likes having a mild winter.

She'll be locked up in a hotel, under a false name, for a whole two weeks. But at least she'll be with _him_.

Eleanor's mood has been brighter over the past few days since she found out he was coming to Europe, and only her mother knows why.

Helena doesn't judge her daughter. She has no right to. She just tells her to be careful and not be seen, and to have a good time.

They've reached a turning point in their relationship.

* * *

Eleanor sits on the balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the Seine smoking a cigarette and nursing a glass of red wine when the door to the suite bangs open. She's on her feet in a flash, hastily stubbing out her smoke in the ashtray and pulling open the glass patio door.

Jasper stands before her in a pair of ripped jeans, and a tight white t-shirt. His hair is freshly cut and he's got a few days worth of stubble on his face.

Just the ways she likes him.

His lips turn up into a familiar handsome smile that makes her heart skip a beat as he takes in the sight before him; she's dressed down in a pair of black skinny jeans a silky black tank.

Nothing about her screams royalty. Not that he'd ever care, anyway.

"Hey baby," he greets her as she throws her arms around his neck, and his hands come to rest on her slim waist. " _I missed you so much_." He nuzzles his nose in her hair, and inhales deeply and pulls her closer to him. She can already feel his erection growing in his pants against her thigh.

Eleanor likes that _she's_ the one that has this control- _this_ _effect_ \- on him.

"I'm glad you asked me to come," Eleanor whispers, holding his face in her hands and peppers his neck with hot, wet kisses. She wants him so much it hurts.

" _Mm_ , not yet," he says saucily in her ear as his hands slide down her back and he brazenly cups her ass, and lifts her off of the floor and into his arms. He carries her over to the large bed in the centre of the room, and sets her down. "God, Len… I missed _you_. You have no idea."

" _I have an idea_ ," she answers as he pushes her top up, and presses his lips to her taut stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. Her hands knot into his hair. " _Come_ _back_ _home._ With me."

Jasper stills against her. It's the first time she's asked him to stay since this affair began. He slowly pulls back, his expression is tortured by what she's asking him to do, and hers falters when she realizes that he isn't going to say _yes_.

" _I can't_ ," he admits, averting his gaze. "She's my _wife_ , Eleanor. I can't-"

"Right," she gripes with a scoff. She needs to get away. "Now you're worried about your wife, Jasper? You're fucking unbelievable!"

Eleanor's heard the exact words from Beck, too. When did she develop an affliction for married men, anyway?

"I'm just your side piece; your dirty little secret. That's all, right? You keep so many fucking secrets, Jasper!" She hollers, her tone scathing, and borderline hysteric as she pushes him away from her. "Do you have a good laugh with your mates about it back home? About how you're fucking _the_ _Princess_ on _-_ "

"You _know_ that's not how it is Len," he pleads, reaching for her arm. His voice is rising too. "You _know_ it." She moves out his reach, because she knows the second he touches her, all will be forgiven.

"How the fuck is it then, Jasper? Why won't you leave her? _What does she have that I don't?!"_

"Lindsay was _there_. She doesn't tell me to go because she's scared," he answers, his tone just as harsh; purposefully striking her _exactly_ where he knows it's going to hurt her the most. " _She doesn't tell me to get out of her fucking life when I try to make up for my mistakes_. Does _that_ sound familiar to you? Or do I need to refresh your goddamn memory, _Princess_ Eleanor? Is it just eating you up inside that you're not getting your way, for once in your goddamn shit excuse of a life, _Your Highness_? You can't just tell me to give everything up for you. It doesn't work like that. Not for us."

 _Everything_ comes crashing down around her and she sits on the edge of the nearby chaise, and hides her face in the palm of her hand. Her shoulders shake as she gulps in mouthfuls of air, in a vain attempt to keep herself from losing her shit at him. The last thing they need is hotel security being called.

If Jasper wants to fight her with words, Eleanor's been ready for battle for a long time.

This is a blowout that's been nearly three years in the making.

Neither will emerge victorious.

"You don't know a fucking thing about me, Jasper. Not one fucking thing. You don't fucking know what it's like to be paraded around in front of suitors by your family because you're nearing your mid-twenties, and haven't had a legitimate love interest in _years_. Knowing that the one person you _want_ is halfway across the bloody planet, _married_ , and _fucking_ someone else and there isn't a goddamn thing you can do about it," she says quietly, her voice deathly calm, even for her. She refuses to look at him.

For the first time since this whole thing's started, she's having doubts. Eleanor knows that she can't carry on with him- _like this_ \- forever. Something is going to have to give eventually or they're going to rip each other to shreds. Emotionally. "I know I've messed up- but don't you fucking dare throw my titles in my face like they're something I care about- _that I need_ \- _because you know better than anyone else on this fucking planet that I hate them the most. More than I hate HER."_

* * *

It's all her fault that they're in this mess. _She's_ the one that kicked him out of the palace, and forced him back to Vegas.

It didn't occur to her until _much_ later that he was just as emotionally fucked up as she was.

Someone had to be there and pick up the pieces of the hurt and pain that she had caused him.

And that was Lindsay Rhodes. So it's only right she gets to be _Lindsay_ _Frost_.

Eleanor had completely tossed his feelings out the window as if they hadn't existed.

As if they weren't genuine.

As if they didn't matter.

When she looked at him, all she saw was everything wrong that he had done to her. It _did_ hurt her to see him.

She doesn't see him like that anymore. She doesn't feel that _hurt_ anymore.

Of course he wouldn't have waited for her.

Jasper thought he was dead to her.

She was selfish to think otherwise. All the others waited- why would he be any different?

Jasper doesn't approach her, but he doesn't go away, either.

Their reunion is ruined.

Once again, it's her fault.


	3. Chapter 3

Liam calls in the middle of the night, two days later, and says that she needs to come home because Willow's gone into labour and he needs her and he's freaking out.

Eleanor's out of bed in an instant, pulling on bits of clothing in the darkness. Some are hers. Some are his. He's pulling on clothes too, telling her not to freak the fuck out because she isn't the one having a baby.

Jasper gets on the jet with her in the dead of the night without hesitation, and she's too frazzled to object because she needs him to keep her sane for the hour-long flight. She didn't even ask him to.

They're met back in London by James Hill in an unmarked palace car. He doesn't bother to hide his shock when he sees who is guiding the Princess off of her plane, his hand wrapped tightly around hers.

James speeds the whole way to the hospital, and Jasper keeps his hand on her thigh to to keep her calm. She texts Liam and tells him that she's landed, and that she's on her way. She doesn't tell him who's come back with her.

They pull their hoods over their heads as James screeches to a halt outside the hospital, where a crowd has gathered behind barricades across the street because someone's leaked to the press that the Queen was admitted a few hours prior.

James is out of the car in a blink of an eye and pulling open the door for her. Jasper gets out first, and she scrambles out after him. The crowd cheers when they realize it's her.

He puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his body, toward the hospital doors to get her out of the rain.

Two more palace security guards are flanking the doors when they arrive at the top of the staircase. They step aside, and allow them to enter.

James told her where she needs to go in the car, and she takes the stairs instead of the lift because she forgets that she's not athletic and thinks it'll be faster. It's not.

She's breathless by the time she reaches the fifth floor, and barrels into the maternity ward, her black hair in a wild disarray as she runs off down the long corridor, Jasper at her heels.

Liam's pacing at the very end, and he looks up at the sounds of her trainers squeaking on the tiled floor. His jaw drops when he sees who's with her, but is quick to recover as she pulls him into her arms and starts barking questions at him a mile a minute.

" _She's fine_ , Lenny," he says earnestly, placing his hands on her shoulders. "They just asked me to step out so they can examine her. Mum's going to come when the baby arrives. _Thank fucking christ_."

"Are _you_ okay though?" she demands, ignoring his statement. Her concern is rare and unique; reserved only for the man she shared a womb with for nine months twenty-four years ago.

"I'm fine," he asserts, and then looks over her shoulder. " _This,_ however, is an unexpected surprise."

Eleanor whirls around as she finally registers that Jasper is with her. In _London_. In _public_.

"You can't be here," she blurts out, rounding on him. " _What if someone sees you?! Have you lost your fucking mind?!_ "

"I'm not leaving you Eleanor," Jasper tells her, unphased by her sudden outburst. "You're wild. Look at you. Hey, Liam. Congratulations." He catches the young king's eyes lingering on his left hand. He jams his hands in his sweater pocket, clearly self-conscious.

"Thanks. It's good to see you mate," he says cautiously. " _Please_ tell me you didn't elope with my sister?"

"God, no," Eleanor snorts, but then her face quickly falls. The doctor comes out of the room, and tells them that they can go in. Eleanor pushes in first and is at her sister in law's side in an instant. "Geez, Willow, _you've_ definitely seen better days," she comments brazenly as she takes in her sister in law's haggard, sweaty appearance.

"You're right, I have," she agrees, her expression pained. "At least I've got all these great drugs, Len. I won't feel a thing when the baby pops out!"

Eleanor pushes her sweaty fringe off of her forehead, and smiles. "Well aren't you lucky? I'll go sit in the hall, yeah? You can torture Liam for a bit."

"It's my favourite thing to do," she laughs tiredly. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I know you were in _Paris_."

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" she bristles, a hint of a smile on her lips as she lets go of her hand and steps out into the corridor.

Jasper is sitting on the floor against the opposite wall, typing away furiously on his Blackberry.

"How is she?" he doesn't look up.

"Fine, just waiting for the drugs to kick in," Eleanor slides down the wall and pulls her knees up to her chest, and rests her head on his shoulder.

Jasper sighs, and pockets his phone. He pulls her legs across his own and puts his arms around her shoulders, and rests his chin on the top of her head, pressing the occasional kiss into her hair.

Regardless of what happened during their first night in France, she knew that they'd make up.

They always do.

Things are still tense, but at least he stayed.

They're alone in the hallway, and she would rather have him there, sitting on a cold concrete floor with her, than nowhere at all.

* * *

Two and a half months later, Eleanor finds out that she's pregnant, and she's in a panic.

While she loves her brand new nephew dearly, she doesn't see herself as the motherly type. She doesn't have a maternal bone in her body.

Eleanor sees herself more as a high-functioning alcoholic.

She has been very careful _not_ to let her mind cross _that_ bridge because she knows that when it does, she'll get upset because she'll never have that with _him_.

She and Jasper still haven't discussed what happened in Paris. They avoid things like that like the plague because he can't bring himself to break his wife's heart, and she knows it.

Their time together is limited, and neither want to spend it fighting over what could have been.

He FaceTimes her two times a week on his lunch, from his car, for thirty minutes. Lindsay has a yoga class on Thursday nights, and she stays up until three just so they can talk.

Lindsay loves Jasper more than she loves herself, and he knows it. It's killing him because his heart's always been back in Great Britain with it's Princess.

He thought that this _want-_ this constant _need-_ for her would go away with time. It hasn't, and the stronghold she's got on him is tighter than ever.

Now, she's carrying his baby, and she can't say who the father is. And he has no idea.

Her name and persona will be dragged through the mud. No one's _ever_ had a baby out of wedlock in her family. Especially not with someone of foreign, common blood status. Not _once_ in the hundreds of years of the Henstridge Monarchy.

* * *

She pulls it together, and flies to Las Vegas. She's terrified to tell him, because she already knows what his reaction will be. What his answer will be.

Eleanor calls him at work when she's settled and alone in her suite.

"I'm in Vegas. Jasper, you need to come to the hotel. I'm staying at _The Four Seasons_ , Penthouse 3. It's an emergency," she says, her voice shaking.

"Are you okay?" he demands urgently. The tone in her voice sends him into a panic.

"No, I'm not. Not at all," she admits, her voice breaking. "Jasper, I need _you_."

"I'm on my way, I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line goes dead.

Eleanor finally allows herself to cry for the first time since she found out ten days ago.

* * *

Forty five minutes later, Jasper finds her crumpled on the floor in the bedroom and falls to his knees beside her. His strong hands are on her body; pushing her hair away and prying her fingers from her tear stained face and puffy eyes.

"Eleanor, what's going on?" Jasper demands urgently, a slight edge of panic in his tone as he turns her over. "What's happened?"

Her bottom lip trembles as she looks at him. His clear blue eyes are full of fear and concern. _For her._

Her heart sinks into her stomach.

"I'm pregnant, Jasper," she whispers, lowering her gaze.

Jasper suddenly drops his hands from her as if she's burned him with her words. She leans back against the footboard and eyes him cautiously as he falls back on his ankles.

"You're sure?" he asks urgently. His blue eyes are bright and wide with disbelief; his expression wild.

"Almost three months," she confirms, her voice so soft he barely hears her. "I thought I was stressed. I-"

"I love you, you know that?" he interrupts. "I love _you_ more than _anything_ , Eleanor."

"If you loved me you'd leave her," Eleanor yells at him, suddenly finding her voice. "Do you know what this is going to be like for _me_? _Alone_? Because of _what_ I am?

"What are are you going to do, fly to London in secret, and go to appointments with me? Raise our baby over FaceTime, twice a week? Visit us when it's convenient for _you_ because you're too chicken shit to leave her because _you_ can't make up your fucking mind? You can't have both worlds, Jasper. It doesn't work that way. I won't let it it, not anymore. Not _now_."

His eyes close, and his breath hitches in his throat, because she's right about all of it. He can't do _this_ to her anymore. Not while the best parts of both of them are growing inside of her.

Eleanor gathers her emotions, and forces herself to calm down. Shouting at him isn't going to accomplish anything. "I'll pay for your lawyer- your visa renewals- all of it," Eleanor pleads. " _I need you. I need you to come back home."_

She's tearing him apart with her display of rare, raw desperation, and he's crumbling before her eyes. He's made such a drastic change from the man he was when he first came to her nearly four years ago.

If he says no, the goddamn King of England will personally fly to America and kick his ass. Jasper knows it. Eleanor knows it.

Judging by the fact that she's come alone, he knows she hasn't told anyone yet.

He's going to be someone's father.

 _His_ baby will be royalty.

Third in line for the British crown, in fact. Right behind it's mother.

* * *

Eleanor sits in Starbucks nursing her herbal tea. Other patrons look at her sympathetically because it's obvious that she's been crying.

Lindsay Frost comes in shortly after two, and she doesn't see Eleanor at first. But then she does, and they stare at each other.

She can tell that she's fighting between ignoring her, and confronting her. Lindsay Frost is a strong woman with a good head on her shoulders, and she doesn't care that Eleanor is a Princess.

Eleanor respects her for it. Lindsay shouldn't be forced to be civil to her just because of _what_ she is. She deserves to hate her _because_ of it.

Lindsay pays for her coffee, takes a deep breath, and towers over her at her small table.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she demands, taking in her disheveled appearance. Eleanor's wearing an old grey t-shirt that's not hers, and a pair of jeans that are a touch too tight around her midsection. She hadn't brushed her hair since she left home, and she's not wearing any make up.

"Drinking tea," she says dully, not looking up at her. Instead, her eyes are on the white gold ring and wedding band on her left hand.

"You came all the way here to drink tea and look like someone told you your dog died? _Bullshit_."

"I'm pregnant," Eleanor says finally. "Almost three months."

Lindsay sets her down her coffee and reluctantly sits in the seat across from her.

She's shaking. She's done the math in her head. Two and a half months ago, her husband was in Paris.

* * *

"I don't know what Jasper's told you about our past, and I don't want to know, because I'd like to keep it there," Eleanor says finally, her fingers picking aimlessly at her napkin. She doesn't look at Lindsay. She can't. " _No one_ has hurt me as much as he has, and nobody has hurt him as much as _I_ have, and it's taken me well over two years to accept it. _No one_ loves Jasper Frost like I do." Eleanor raises her eyes to Lindsay's then, challenging her. " _No one._ "

Lindsay swallows the lump that's forming in her throat; her brown eyes shine with tears that she doesn't want to fall. She doesn't want _her_ to see that she's hurting from _her_ words. Every fear that has materialized in the dark corners of her mind are quickly becoming very real, very fast.

Her husband _has_ been cheating on her.

Jasper swore up and down that he wasn't. That he _couldn't_. Jasper _was_ a good husband. He made her feel wanted, he listened, and took part in their mutual interests without complaint, and constantly doted on her like she was the single most important thing in his life.

Regardless, Lindsay could tell that he had some sort of burden on his shoulders.

And then she found out that that burden had a name: _Eleanor_.

He never wanted to discuss it. To discuss _her_.

Now, she _knows_.

Eleanor isn't just some girl from his past that he's gotten pregnant. Regardless of what happens, _she's_ not going to go away. Even if she leaves for good, that baby is going to be photographed and on display for life.

A constant reminder of what happened.

And it's the worst of her fears come true.

* * *

Eleanor feels awful for what she's doing, but she needs her to _know_.

"Jasper asked me to meet him in Paris, and I did. I asked him to leave you. And he told me that he couldn't, because you're the one who put him back together after _I_ destroyed him. He couldn't give it up. A while later, my twin calls in the middle of the night and says his wife is in labour, and he's panicking. That he needs me to come home. Jasper flew to London with me so easily I didn't even fully register he was there until it was too late to tell him no.

"My brother paced the corridor all night, and Jasper was right there with us like he _belonged_. No one said anything otherwise. Once it was over, he left us to come home to _you_. _Your_ husband was one of the first people to hold the future King of England. He said it was the first baby he's ever held."

Lindsay takes a drink, but says nothing. She doesn't like the way Eleanor talks with her well-articulated English accent. She certainly doesn't like the way her husband's name sounds coming out of her mouth. She cringes on the inside every time the Princess says ' _Jaspah'_.

She doesn't like that her name is _Eleanor,_ either. Nobody she knows has an old-timey name like that. Then again, _Eleanor_ is a _real_ Princess and _her_ father was a King, so _her_ name probably holds some sort of great meaning.

She also doesn't like how _she_ refers to _her_ brother like he's just a _brother_. _Her_ brother is the fucking _King of England_. His wife is the _Queen_.

Princesses aren't called Lindsay.

Before she found out who _she_ was, Lindsay didn't care about the British Monarchy. Jasper hadn't mentioned working for them while he was on a work contract in England. He definitely did not mention that he had an intimate relationship with it's Princess.

So, she Googled ' _Princess Eleanor 2014_ '. _She_ was wild, mouthy, drunk, and controversial. _Her_ vagina had been on the cover of the tabloids.

But then she finds out her older brother died tragically in a military accident. A rumoured suicide because he didn't want to be king. Her father brutally murdered, and nobody knew who did it.

It was publicly known that she didn't get on well with her mother.

Lindsay felt bad for Eleanor, briefly.

Until she saw the pictures of her husband's arms around _her_ in a red dress, leading her from a stadium filled with an angry mob, a look of sheer determination on his face. Like Eleanor's the most important thing on the planet.

Or the ones of the Princess in a pretty purple dress at a garden party, with her husband in the background looking at _her_ with an expression of undiluted longing.

Jasper doesn't look at her that way. He never has.

* * *

Eleanor folds her hands on her lap, and her gaze fixes on her chipped nail varnish before she continues. "It occurs to me that I am a terrible person. I've done many, many things that I'm not proud of. The worst thing that I've ever done is tell the one person who has _ever_ really loved _me_ to get out of my life. All he wanted was to prove his loyalty, and that he had genuinely changed for _me_ and my family. And I told Jasper to leave and not come back because I felt like I wasn't good enough for _him_. _That I wasn't worthy of that kind of love._

"We've never stated publicly, but Jasper is the one who uncovered the truth behind my father's murder. Liam asked him for help in his quest for justice, but he did it for me, because he wanted to make it right between us. He wanted _me_ to have closure. And still, I told him to leave.

"And he listened. He left, just like I asked him to. There was no heartfelt goodbye, or begging to stay. He left, and that was that. He came back here, and I'm not sure what condition he was in, because they all knew _not_ to discuss him in my presence. I had my family. He had no one, until he met _you_. I don't know what you've done, or how you've done it, but I need to thank you for not letting him fall into a stupor or going back to his old life. I know that Liam pulled some strings to make sure that he had a good position waiting for him for when he returned, with the intention of keeping him _here_. Away from _me. Just like I wanted._

"If he were with me, he wouldn't be able to do _any_ of the things he can do now, because of who _I_ am. Of whom my twin is. Had I been born four minutes earlier, I would be _Queen_."

Eleanor rises to her feet and stares down at Lindsay, sadness and pain swimming in her eyes. "I've _never_ had to beg for anything in my life, _Lindsay_. I'm a bloody Princess. I came here to tell him that I'm pregnant. I begged him with _everything_ I have to come back to England with me. He said he's not going to leave you, so I told him that we're finished. He's not to contact me, or any member of my household, _ever_ _again_."

She picks up her purse, and swings it across her body and walks back to her hotel, and calls her detail to ready the jet because she wants to go home.

She's lost her battle.

* * *

It's been three months since she's left Las Vegas, and it's obvious that she's pregnant. The media and royal watchers are running wild, gleaning through every boyfriend and male friend she's ever had with a fine-toothed comb trying to figure out who the father of her baby is.

They don't know about Jasper, so they don't bring him up in their list.

In typical Henstridge family fashion, the palace refuses to confirm or deny anything.

If Liam weren't a King with obligations, he would have been on the jet to punch Jasper Frost in his bloody American face for impregnating his twin sister, and abandoning her.

It's because he's the King, he can send James Hill to do it for him. Liam knows that if anyone outside their family sees Eleanor as one of their own, it's Agent Hill.

* * *

Pregnancy suits her. She's managed to put on some weight, and her skin is luminous. The magazines always talk about her excellent style, and speculate about the gender of her baby.

Only she knows if it's a boy or a girl, but refuses to tell anyone because she thinks it's none of their business, and she hates being the centre of attention. Especially now, when all she wants to do is spend her days roaming around the palace like a lost soul.

Eleanor reluctantly lets Jasper know about her appointments, and sends him pictures of the sonograms because he wants to know. She's not going to deny him that because she's not heartless. He tries to talk to her, but she doesn't answer. She ignores him if he asks her any non-baby related questions.

If he wants to know how she's doing, he can goddamn Google her and see it on her face in any recent photo.

Eleanor asks James if they're still married. He tells her with a sad expression that they are.

Sara Alice draws her a picture because she's into art now, and Eleanor keeps it in her bedroom, pinned to her mirror. She can't ride horses anymore, given her condition, but she still visits with the young girl every Wednesday.

Sara Alice suggests outrageous names for her baby. Both boy and girl, because Eleanor won't tell.

It's the only time she laughs.

* * *

Liam disappears for a few days, and no one will tell her where he's gone.

Deep down, she knows, and she doesn't want to get her hopes up. She can't.

He comes back, alone, and he's irritable for days on end.

He won't talk to her. She won't talk to him.

Helena offers to go.

Her hormones are bad that day, and so Eleanor asks _why_ , and demands to know when the last time her mother had a proper shag was.

If she weren't pregnant, Helena would have slapped her daughter.

Eleanor apologizes later that night.

* * *

He's coming to London. Jasper says he lied to Lindsay about where in Europe he's going, but he's promised he's coming to speak to _her_.

Eleanor sends the plane and instructs him to lie some more and tell Lindsay he's flying commercial.

She toys with the idea of taking his name off of the list again. Because she can, and he deserves it. She likes the idea of having him travel all this way to only be turned down at the gates by his former coworkers.

It's because she's still a glutton for punishment, she doesn't.

* * *

She's sitting in one of the state rooms having tea with her mother when Helena suddenly stops talking, and her face looks alarmed.

Eleanor's neck cracks as she spins her head around to see what's got her knickers in a twist.

 _He's_ standing there, staring at her.

He can't see her midsection from where he's standing, but she knows that's what he's looking for.

Eleanor sets down her teacup and rises to her feet, and turns around, her pin-straight hair falling over her shoulders. Her small bump is straining against her tight black top, a harsh contrast against her usual slim figure.

Jasper lurches forward, and sweeps her up in his arms and presses his lips all over her face and neck, not caring that her mother is in the room.

Eleanor's unresponsive in his embrace for two reasons.

First, because she's shocked that he actually came to the palace, through the front doors. _Alone_.

And because _something_ is missing from his left hand.


	4. Chapter 4

Eleanor doesn't say anything, but she knows that _it's_ gone. She pulls herself free from his embrace and roughly pushes him out of the room and down the hall towards her bedroom so they can speak in private. The last thing she wants is her mother, and about ten other staff members, listening in on what's most likely going to be an unpleasant conversation between she and Jasper.

Normally he's the one doing the shoving and leading, the tables have turned in their situation and now it's her. She's never manhandled him outside the bedroom like this, and it feels strangely cathartic to push the father of her unborn child around for once. Eleanor shoves him in her bedroom with a surprising amount of force from a small pregnant woman. Jasper stumbles forward into one of the plush, green chairs as she carefully closes the doors, and rests her forehead against the cool wood as she tries to regain her composure.

"I- I've left Lindsay- she doesn't know it yet, but I did. _I am_. I've done it, I promise. I packed up all my essential shit and brought it with me on the jet," he rambles off passionately as soon as she turns to face him. Jasper's words are coming out quick and jumbled as if he's afraid that she'll tell him to shut the fuck up and get out at any moment. "I've fucked this up so bad, baby. I don't know what I was thinking. It was killing me knowing that you're _both_ here. I'm sorry I was too chicken shit to do anything about it. It's tearing me up inside that you won't talk to me. _It's fucking killing me, Len._

"You were right. I needed to make a choice. I can't have both. And I don't fucking want both. I want _you_. I'm not here just because of the baby. I'd be here, even if he wasn't. _She's_ not you. She never could replace you and I was a dumb fuck to think that I could ever replace what we have.

"And then fucking _Liam_ shows up at my goddamn condo in the middle of the night, and tells me exactly _how_ it's been these past few months and… _I'm shit_ , Eleanor. I know that I am. But I want _you_. I've always wanted you. I always will. _I love you_. I love you so goddamn much I'll do whatever I need to do to stay. With you. And our baby. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying whether you want me or not. I'll live in London, somewhere else, if that's what I have to do." He finishes breathlessly. She can tell that he's likely been working on that speech for the whole flight, hoping that whatever shit he spews at her, she'll eat it up and take him back.

Eleanor's expression is sympathetic, but it's guarded. Her hands fold protectively on her stomach as she takes a seat in one of the chairs by the coffee table, and carefully crosses her legs.

"It's a girl," she corrects him, lifting her eyes to meet his. "The baby. It's a girl."

His breath hitches in his throat as her words swirl around in his head. He's speechless.

 _He's going to have a goddamn daughter._

A _son_ is one thing. He just assumed it was a boy because he read somewhere once that men with huge shlongs are more likely to have sons than daughters. Something science-y about the sperm having a shorter distance to travel. Penis size aside, he is going to have a _goddamn daughter._

A _daughter_ is a whole other situation he isn't equipped for, because he damn well knows he's already fiercely protective and territorial over Eleanor.

An innocent, tiny little _girl_ that will probably look too much like her beautiful mother for her own good. And she's _his._

 _Never_ did he think he'd have a family of his own, let alone with Eleanor Henstridge. He hadn't intended on knocking her up, ever. Just originally planned on sleeping with her a few times, and stealing her big diamond and retiring in Panama, like all the other Vegas crooks.

Things change. He changed. Plans change, evidently.

Eleanor is a goddamn Princess. Princesses aren't supposed to have babies with their nobody bodyguards. They _definitely_ aren't supposed to have them them with fucked up Las Vegas con artists.

* * *

She's lying on her back, naked, and he's lying on his side next to her, his eyes flickering between her stomach and her breasts, as if he can't decide which one he likes the most.

Jasper is a big fan of what pregnancy has done to her body thus far.

He held her as if she could break, because he's not used to her _feeling_ like this. Or _looking_ like this. It's been her reality for months, and she doesn't care as long as she doesn't get stretch marks.

Eleanor slathers her body in coconut oil every morning and night because she read somewhere once upon a time that it's good for the skin. It appears to be working.

"I love you," Jasper whispers to her stomach, his fingers trailing over her bump. Eleanor wordlessly reaches up and takes his hand, and guides it across, pressing his fingers down in certain spots and she softly explains what part of the baby is where. He moves back up to her, brushes her hair out of her eyes, and frames her face in his hands. "And I love you," he breathes, his warm breath fanning over her face.

His breath smells of cigarettes and airplane cognac, and she briefly wonders when he took up smoking again. She doesn't care, because she's been trying to quit herself before the baby comes. She probably smells something akin to an ashtray half the time anyway.

For the first time in months, she smiles.

All the way.

* * *

Her Royal Highness, Princess Eleanor Henstridge, sends her family's best lawyer to Las Vegas, Nevada, with divorce papers containing the signature of Jasper Frost the next afternoon.

Jasper keeps his mouth shut because he knows it's something she needs to do to make herself feel better. Eleanor's been the queen of sending strong messages for as long as he's known her. He's finally gotten her back, after all of this time. The last thing he wants is to ignite an argument. He knows that Lindsay doesn't deserve to have Eleanor's extremely expensive Royal lawyer serve her with his divorce papers, but there's no point in arguing with her.

Lindsay Frost- _soon again to be Rhodes_ \- has no leg to stand on when the British Monarchy comes knocking on her door to serve her with divorce papers. The envelope had been sealed with the official wax seal of the Henstridge family. The harsh red 'H' is daunting. She knows there's only one person who would seal an envelope in such a way.

She's known in the back of her mind that Jasper didn't go to Europe on a business trip.

After Eleanor left her alone in the coffee shop, she Googled to see if there were any merit to her claims. _Just in case_. There were a few dark images and a video of her arriving at a London hospital in the middle of the night, with her face barely visible behind a black hooded sweatshirt that doesn't belong to her. She knows it's not _hers_ because she's worn it herself on several occasions.

The Princess was driven by someone who was clearly her bodyguard, and then someone else gets out of the car. His face is shadowed, but the his stature and profile are painstakingly familiar. He holds her close to his own body as he briskly escorts her inside.

Three weeks later after _her_ departure, Jasper comes home in the back of a black Mercedes Benz, sporting a black eye. He lies and says that he ran into something while on the job, but she knows that he's been punched by the salt and pepper haired man in the car.

She recognizes him as Eleanor's bodyguard from the pictures she's found on the Internet _,_ but she doesn't tell him that.

Lindsay's known that her marriage was over ever since the King of England turned up at her condo in the middle of the night, and shouted at her husband for two hours for getting his sister pregnant, and then abandoning her. And then he spent another two hours telling Jasper how depressed _Lenny's_ been over the past several months, and that he needs to fix it. _Now._

Lindsay never left the bedroom to meet the King, but she heard every word of their exchange.

She pretended to be asleep when Jasper finally came back to bed in the early hours of the morning.

The next day, he acted like the whole thing never happened.

But she knew.

* * *

They come back signed two days later, and there are tear stains on the documents.

Eleanor steps out in public with Jasper at her side a week later, a bright, shining smile on her face for the first time in _years_.

The tabloids are in an uproar as everyone struggles to confirm the identity of the drop dead gorgeous man on Princess Eleanor's arm.

The palace confirms through traditional mediums that he is her former bodyguard from America and the father of her baby, and that there are no immediate plans to them marry.

 _D-Throned_ is the one who finds out that he has left his wife for her, and gotten her pregnant while still married back in Las Vegas. They had dug into her past, and found several pictures of them together while he was her bodyguard, and painted them as star-crossed lovers in the media.

Eleanor doesn't tell Jasper, but she sends two members of Palace security to Vegas to keep an eye on Lindsay, and to keep the reporters away.

She doesn't complain, because for the first time in nearly four years, she's genuinely happy.

Jasper keeps his mouth shut, because she's hormonal and could turn on him at the drop of a hat.

Besides, he's wanted her, too.

They've never had the most conventional of relationships, anyway.

* * *

" _Jasper!_ " Eleanor yells hoarsely. She's nine months pregnant, though it feels like ninety. It's shortly after midnight, and her goddamn water just broke while she was in the loo. She stands in a blue silken nightgown that rests mid thigh, braced against the bathroom wall, a puddle of murky water at her feet.

He's out of bed in a flash, and stands in the en suite bathroom entry way as she rests against the wall with her forehead against her forearm, moaning softly with each breath she takes as her other hand clutches her stomach. It's looked different for the past few days because the baby's finally dropped.

Jasper jumps into action and he puts his arm around her waist and helps her back into the bedroom. She sits on the edge of their bed as he picks up the phone off of the nightstand, and rings palace security to get a _car right_ _now_ because Eleanor's gone into labour.

A blood-curdling scream leaves her mouth as the first wave of contractions hit her. Her insides feel like they're being ripped apart, and she's not prepared for it. Sweat forms on his brow as he tries to keep from losing his shit at the sight of her.

"The car's coming, Len. You need to get dressed," he says carefully.

"I am _not_ getting dressed," she says through clenched teeth. "Get my fucking long black coat, _or so help me-"_

He's in her closet before the words are out of her mouth, and back out a second later with her black trench. He helps her into it as two members of palace security burst into her room with a wheelchair. Jasper thanks them for her because she's suddenly become incapable of saying anything that isn't a swear word.

* * *

Eleanor has a high tolerance for the epidural, and it's not doing what it's supposed to. Her expression is torn between pain and fear as Doctor Cohen instructs her to push.

Jasper is beside her, brushing her hair out of her face, telling her how much he loves her, and that she's doing great.

There's a goddamn human coming out of her vagina.

She doesn't feel the least bit great. She has a

Jasper pulls away momentarily and gazes down between her legs, and tries to keep the disgust off of his face as she screams and pushes.

"I can see her head, babe. Black hair, just like yours. You got this. _You're the toughest bitch I know."_

Doctor Cohen snorts and looks up briefly to see her reaction.

If she wasn't in so much goddamn pain, she probably would have slapped him. Multiple times.

"Stop looking _in_ my vagina, Jasper!" she hisses.

"Come on, Eleanor. Three more big pushes and she's out," Doctor Cohen pipes up as Jasper takes her hand once more, and wraps his other arm around her shoulders.

He tells her to push.

Something's ripping inside of her, but she does it anyway. The head of their daughter pops out of her and she falls back into her pillows, panting.

"One more, babe. Just one." Jasper whispers, pressing his lips to her sweaty forehead. She opens her eyes and finds his, and she's so goddamn frightened.

He licks his lips and nods, because he _knows_. "Come on Len," he encourages. She gives him a small nod, and braces herself against his arm with both hands once more, and pushes with everything she has, another harsh cry falling from her lips.

It feels like something's let go deep inside of her, and then there's a loud _squelching_ sound, and then the baby's out.

Another new, high pitched cry fills the room as she falls back crying; her chest heaving as her legs go limp from both pain and exhaustion.

Jasper's hands are on her face, rubbing small, soothing circles on her cheeks as she struggles to catch her breath. He can't take his eyes off of her. She can't take hers off of him. The cord is cut, and the screaming, struggling baby is placed on her chest.

Her hands fly up to touch her daughter for the first time, and he steps back in shock. She's covered in blood and goo and she smells weird, but she's perfect.

She has a full head of thick black hair, and she's pink. Eleanor touches her face, gently, desperately trying to get a better look at her baby as she curls instinctively into her chest.

She has Jasper's thin nose.

He's in awe and can't believe that _they_ made something so tiny and perfect.

She cries and stretches against her mother, and _finally_ reveals a pair of brilliant blue eyes, identical to her father's.

Eleanor smiles tiredly and finally hands her off to Jasper, who's nervous as hell because he's only held a baby once before today- Prince Simon.

This time it's different, because this one's _his_.

* * *

They've allowed them to take the baby away to have her cleaned up and weighed.

Eleanor's exhausted, but she wants her baby back before she goes to sleep.

"Princess Eleanor?" Doctor Cohen smiles softly as he walks back into the room, holding a tiny pink bundle in his arms. "She's in perfect condition. Have you picked out a name for the birth certificate?"

He wordlessly passes her her baby and she's asleep, her breath coming out in short, quick breaths.

Eleanor looks to Jasper as he sits on the edge of her bed. She's too tired to even think straight, let alone name their daughter.

He can't stop staring at her, as if he can't believe that she's real. And that she looks just like him.

"Joanna," he says finally. They had discussed the name Joanna in passing, but were still undecided.

Eleanor looks down, and rolls the name around in her mouth. _Joanna_.

It suits her.

" _Princess_ Joanna Louise Victoria _Henstridge_ - _Frost_." Eleanor recites carefully.

"A beautiful name for our beautiful new Princess," he smiles. "I'll let you rest, Your Highness. Mr. Frost. Call your nurse if you need _anything_."

Eleanor waits until Doctor Cohen shuts the door, and then she carefully moves over in the bed so Jasper can get in with her and Joanna. He casts a wary eye to the door before scrambling in next to her. He lies on his side with one arm extended over her pillow, and lays his head next to hers as they both stare down at their sleeping daughter.

She's so exhausted. It's shortly after four in the morning. Liam, Willow, and her mother will likely be there at the crack of dawn because she left the palace screaming like a banshee and spooked them.

The last thing Eleanor sees before she passes out is Jasper's free hand come up and gently cup the back of his daughter's head, and then adjusts the soft pink hat she's wearing as she squirms in her swaddle, still fast asleep.

* * *

They're allowed to leave the next day, and Eleanor can't wait to get home because she fucking hates hospitals.

Her mother has a loose, dark blue dress sent over for her and a pair of flats, and her makeup kit. Because God forbid she looks like she just birthed a human the previous morning.

They sent Jasper a pair of dark jeans and a white button down, black jumper, and loafers.

Joanna is dressed in a soft, white knit onesie and swaddled securely in the same soft pink and yellow blanket she herself was brought home in twenty-five years ago.

They'll go outside for pictures and show off their new baby before getting her in the car seat and then they'll be off.

Jasper hands her Joanna as they walk toward the main entrance of the hospital. His handling of her is awkward, because he's still learning.

Eleanor's thankful she's sleeping because the crowd is thunderous when they emerge.

Eleanor may not be Queen and her daughter will never be either, but she's still the first-born Princess of the new era, and the public loves nothing more than a royal baby. _Especially a Princess._

She smiles brightly, and Jasper has an identical, rare smile on his own face as they stare out over the sea of reporters and flash-bulbs.

He tenses beside her and her smile falters when she sees what he does.

Lindsay is at the front of the crowd. In a sea of smiling faces, her crestfallen one stands out like a sore thumb. She's not sure why the other woman has come all this way to see them present their daughter to the world.

But she's there, staring at them.

Eleanor's ruined that girl's life.

She didn't want to.

But she did.

Eleanor wonders if she should be feeling bad, because she's not. Maybe it's the painkillers, or maybe she's finally experiencing true euphoria because _her_ baby is so goddamn beautiful and perfect.

She looks cautiously up at Jasper, and he looks down at her. And then he smiles, cups her face in his hands, and presses his lips to her forehead as she holds their baby closer to her heart.

The crowd goes wild. Joanna stirs in her arms. They need to go back inside.

Eleanor and Jasper know that the way things worked out wasn't the least bit fair to Lindsay.

So it's only right she that she drives a wedge into a memory that's meant to be perfect for them.

* * *

Her hair resembles something like a greasy haystack and she's got dried baby vomit down her front because Joanna refuses to let her mother put her down for more than two minutes.

Joanna could have _Mary fucking Poppins_ for a nanny, and she'd still only want Eleanor. So she only keeps one on staff part time for when she absolutely needs to attend something with Jasper. If one of them isn't home, chances are, the other usually is.

Joanna's cutting her first tooth and she's got her mother's flair for dramatics, so of course she's not keeping anything down. She's got her top ruined by regurgitated avocado and breast milk.

Eleanor's been in the nursery trying to calm her daughter who's been crying all morning.

Jasper thinks it's the perfect opportunity to tell her he wants to marry her.

Princess Joanna, age six months, stops screaming for the first time in well over an hour as if she knows _exactly_ what the hell her father just asked her mother.

His divorce was finalized over a month ago.

He's wanted to make _her_ officially _his_ from the second he got off the phone with the family's lawyer.

Eleanor's jaw drops as he swaggers toward her, with that bloody smirk of his that looks almost _erotic_ painted on his lips _._ Jasper pulls out an antique ring with a large emerald cut diamond, surrounded by ornate detailings. She's had her eye on it in the Crown Jewel collection for as long as she can remember.

She hikes the baby up higher on her shoulder, and Joanna turns to look at her father, blinks, and automatically reaches for him.

She's wordlessly passed from parent to parent and Jasper's staring at her with their baby in one arm and that damn engagement ring in the other.

Two identical pairs of crystal blue eyes stare at her expectantly.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Eleanor exclaims, her expression turning to disgust as she carefully peels off her puke-stained top and deposits it in a nearby hamper.

"Quite possibly. She _has_ been keeping us up lately," he says lightly, bouncing her in his arm for emphasis. Joanna giggles, and then sees the shiny object in his fingers and reaches for it, and pulls it free and to examine it herself.

Eleanor stands there in her bra, and sighs. "Of course I will," she says dryly. "Now let me go get a fresh top for Christ sakes."

* * *

There's a few grumblings from The House of Lords about her intentions to marry an American divorcee.

Eleanor reminds Liam in not so many kind words that she's no longer next in line to the throne. Even if she were, she'd still do whatever she damn well pleased, including marrying the American divorceé Jasper Frost.

Liam knows this, of course, and couldn't give less of a shit but he still tells her because he likes to get a rise out of her.

She's already had a baby out of wedlock. She's sure that there are more pressing matters for Parliament to worry about than who the King's twin sister wants to marry.

* * *

Joanna has everyone in the palace wrapped around her little finger, including her cousin Simon. Simon's a year older than she is, but he's protective of her in the way that a toddler can be of another toddler.

So when ten month old Joanna sees him running about the palace on unsteady legs, she's damn well determined to do it, too.

Joanna may have inherited her father's sharp features and eyes, but she is _all_ Eleanor.

And it's giving Helena the biggest satisfaction because she knows that in fifteen years, give or take, Eleanor's going to get what she threw at her right back.

Jasper's on the floor with her and Eleanor's perched on the sofa. They've been trying to get her to walk the three foot distance from where she keeps pulling herself up on an ottoman to where Jasper's sitting.

Joanna will hold onto her mother and run, but god forbid she moves on her own. She's long and thin, just like Eleanor.

Every time she sees him with that baby, it does things to her. Her heart clenches, and she _almost_ considers the idea that maybe another isn't such a bad idea.

It's disgusting how good looking he is with Joanna in his arms. She knows it, and the damn tabloids know it too because they keep printing pictures of him shirtless with Joanna from their family vacation in the south of France over a month ago. They call him a _pauper_ _hottie_ because of his commoner blood status.

" _Len_!" He says urgently, breaking her out of whatever trance she was in.

Her eyes hone in on her daughter taking her first step toward her father, her small arms outstretched towards him in both fascination and fear.

His hands are outstretched right back to her. Eleanor grips the arm of the sofa, eyes wide.

If Joanna falls, there's going to be tears and all the progress they've made all afternoon with her will be shot.

" _Come on, Joanna_ ," Jasper breathes as she takes another hesitant step toward him.

She takes another.

And another.

And another.

And then she falls into his arms and she's giggling because he's laughing. He falls onto his back, and hoists Joanna up in the air and and she screams in delight, kicking her legs wildly.

His smile is wide with pride; Jasper's usually stoic and cocky expressions have faltered in the months since their daughter has been born.

"You did it, Joanna!" Eleanor exclaims, dropping onto her knees next to them and lifts her into her arms, smiling widely. "You're such a brave girl!"


	5. Chapter 5

They're in Las Vegas because Jasper's parents decided they want to know their granddaughter, all of a sudden.

Jasper's on edge because he knows they're lying and just want to extort money from them in exchange for their silence about his past.

Eleanor is more than happy to whip out her chequebook and make the problem go away, but he's hesitant because he knows how they operate.

They left Joanna at home with her nanny. They don't plan on staying long.

Still, it's the longest Eleanor's been away from their daughter since she's been born and she misses her and she's nervous.

 _They_ walk into the hotel restaurant and try to greet them like they're the best of friends. Like Eleanor is their favourite soon to be daughter in law.

She's disgusted because she can see it's all an act.

They don't ask about Joanna.

Jasper cuts to the chase and tells them they need to leave them the hell alone, or he'll go to the FBI because he's going to have diplomatic immunity when he marries her.

They're back on the jet within two hours.

* * *

Eleanor unconsciously crosses her legs as she watches Jasper tie his tie in her vanity mirror. He's wearing a tailored two piece navy blue Burberry suit. And _goddamn_ does he look good in it.

Tonight's their official engagement party.

Eleanor knows few people the guest list, and he knows even less.

She knows it has to be done because they live in a monarchy and that's what they do.

They're not setting a date until Joanna can walk more than five feet without falling, because Eleanor wants her to be the flower girl. It's unusually long for a royal engagement, and Eleanor blames it on her _mudblood_ fiancé when her mother starts pushing for more detailed wedding plans. The truth is, she doesn't care. She's fine with how their life is.

He turns to face her, a small smile on his lips. He's adapted so well to her lifestyle. Jasper goes with her to scheduled events and he answers questions from reporters with practiced ease. He's well informed and talks politics with politicians like they're discussing the weather.

He's well liked because he offers a different perspective because he's not British.

He's an excellent father.

She knows he's determined to be, because his own was shit.

And because Joanna is _their_ daughter, he's protective to boot. If she thought he was annoying with her way back when, it's _nothing_ compared to how he is with Joanna.

It's sexy as hell when it's not her he's worrying about.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, lifting her champagne flute to his lips, and drains the glass.

"Just remembering how annoying you used to be," she says easily as she rises to her feet. She's wearing a long figure-hugging, sleeveless, champagne-coloured gown.

He thinks she looks like an angel, he won't voice it out loud because he knows she'll laugh. "You look beautiful," he offers instead, wrapping an arm around her slim waist from behind and pulls her in close. His fist bunches a handful of silk on her hip. "I can't wait to take _this_ off of you later."

Jasper's breath is hot against her ear, and she likes it. She turns her lips to his rough cheek and smiles. "I think you'll like taking off what's _under_ it more."

He releases her, groaning.

He _knew_ he had seen a _La Perla_ bag in the closet, and can only imagine what scraps of fabric she's got on underneath that damn dress.

* * *

Eleanor doesn't disappoint.

Hours later, Jasper drags the zipper down her back and his breath hitches in his throat as a black lace bandeau is revealed to him in the moonlight.

Nothing gets him going more the sight of black lingerie against her pale skin. _Nothing_.

He keeps going, and the zipper stops in her lower back. He presses his lips to her bare neck, pushing her hair over her opposite shoulder as her dress falls into a silky puddle at her feet.

Jasper pulls back slightly and looks down.

" _Oh fuck_ ," he moans, taking in the matching cheek-hugging lace knickers that are molded to her perfect, pert behind like a second skin.

He would have knocked her up ages ago had he known what lasting effects pregnancy would have had on her.

Eleanor's always been perfect in his eyes. Now, because she's still breastfeeding, she's got a fucking nice set of tits that definitely weren't there before.

She hit the gym for a few months after Joanna was born with him, begrudgingly. He made her do squats. He's quite certain he could bounce a quarter off of her ass, but she won't let him try.

Eleanor is all his.

He is all hers.

She spins in his arms and frames his face in her hands, her fingers lightly scratching at his whiskers. There's still faint traces of red lipstick on her mouth, but he doesn't care.

"You like?" She asks innocently.

"I'll like it even better when it's on the carpet," he growls, his hands sliding from her shoulders, down her back, to expertly cup her behind. He purposefully digs his fingers into her ass as he pushes her against him.

Eleanor can feel him harden through his soft cotton trousers, and she wants it. She needs _it_.

Wordlessly, she loosens his belt, undoes his button, and drags down his zipper. She reaches in and cups him through the soft material of his boxers, and squeezes gently.

The baby's with the nanny tonight.

There will be no interruptions.

He abruptly releases her, and takes a step back as she stumbles into the back of the sofa, and braces herself against it.

"Take off your bra, Eleanor." He commands, loosening his silk tie. Jasper pulls it free from his neck as she reaches behind herself and undoes the clasps holding it together.

It falls to the floor, and she looks up at him coquettishly as her hair falls over her bare shoulders.

He sheds his shirt and undershirt. His eyes don't leave hers. "Turn around, and take off your underwear. _Slowly_."

Jasper steps out of his trousers as she slowly turns. He watches her, his eyes lingering on her long, beautiful back. His gaze lowers as she bends over, hooks her fingers in the sides of her knickers. He grips the side of the chair next to him; it's taking everything he's got _not_ to take control of the situation and rip them off of her.

He's enjoying the show too much to make a move.

Eleanor slides them down her narrow thighs, and lets them free fall the rest of the way to the floor before she straightens up.

She doesn't turn around as he approaches her.

They're not going to make it to the bed.

He lowers his boxers, and his erection bounces free and he wastes no time pushing up against her behind and pressing his lips to her neck, and makes his way up to her ear.

"Do you want me to take you _right here_ , Len?" He says roughly in her ear as one arm snakes around her waist, holding her in place.

Eleanor's grip on the sofa tightens at his words. She's already soaked just thinking about it. " _Yes_."

"Good answer."

Wordlessly, he holds onto her waist with one arm, and bends slightly to lift her leg up on the edge of the sofa. He's so thankful that she's got long legs, but that's another tale for another time.

His fingers move at an agonizingly slow pace along her inner thigh, before he reaches her delicate folds and easily slides two fingers inside of her. She's more than ready for him.

She always is.

Jasper grips her leg behind her knee, and eases himself inside of her. He sets her leg down and bends slightly, watching as she grips the sofa in front of her. He wraps his free hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he can kiss her as he abruptly pulls out, and then slams back into her.

Her cry is muffled by his mouth as they share the same hot, ragged breath. Her hand flies up and tangles in his hair as she kisses him as he takes her over and over and over.

He lets her go, and she bends forward, and he goes impossibly deeper inside of her. He swats her behind, leaving a harsh red imprint of his hand on her pale flesh.

" _Eugh_ ," she moans, and he can feel her tightening around him. He smirks. Even now, after all of _it_ \- she still likes it rough. So does he.

Jasper reaches around her waist and presses his front flush against her back, his breathing haggard against her neck as he reaches between her legs and touches her.

A harsh " _fuck Jasper_ ," falls from her lips as his hand moves expertly against her. _How in the hell can he be in so many places at once?_

" _Cum for me, baby_ ," he says harshly in her ear as he pinches her clit. " _I wanna feel your pussy cum all over my cock._ "

She's lost it at his words, and he's slamming into her so hard the sofa moves in front of her, scraping across the wooden floor. She comes hard, moaning loudly. There's no one else in her corridor, and she doesn't care if anyone hears her anyway.

His teeth sink into the delicate flesh of her shoulder as he holds her so tightly she's sure there's going to be marks in the morning. She can feel him pulsing inside of her as he groans into her neck. It's a harsh, primal, and masculine sound that she knows has always been reserved just for _her_. Because she damn well knows that no one has _ever_ fucked him as good as she does.

Jasper doesn't let go very often, for a number of reasons that he's still working through. But when he does, she thinks it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

He stills against her, and presses his sweaty forehead to the back of her head as several harsh pants hit her neck as he tries to catch his breath.

Eleanor's body slacks as he pulls out of her. Her legs feel like jelly as she slowly turns around.

"Hey," he says softly, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches her slowly approach him. The smug bastard knows he did good.

"Hey yourself," she brushes a few stray hairs out of her face and steps into his embrace, and places her hands on his chest, and frowns slightly. "You're sweaty."

"So are you," he fires back, his fingers feeling along the damp skin in the small of her back. Her eyes flash up to his, but she doesn't reply. "Shower?" He deadpans.

Her eyes linger on his, her expression a mix of a scowl from his previous comment, and shameless adoration.

His eyes sparkle with dark mirth as he stares back at her with raised eyebrows, awaiting her answer. Eleanor presses her lips into a thin line, and then she nods.

* * *

Joanna's turning one in a matter of weeks and Eleanor's determined not to let her mother have a single say in any of it.

They've rowed several times, because Helena wants to show off her granddaughter, and Eleanor doesn't. It still resonates with her how many birthdays that she and Liam had that were ruined by her wanting to throw an unnecessary gala.

Joanna loves Peppa Pig, and Eleanor's determined to give her a goddamn Peppa Pig party if it's the last thing she does.

"She's not the bloody future queen, mother!" Eleanor screeches as she storms around the throne room like a hurricane. Helena looks slightly taken aback at her daughter's outburst. "I won't let you ruin this like you ruined it for Liam and I. _I won't_!"

There's a tour going through the palace, and the throne room is usually vacant for it, but Eleanor and Helena have been fighting all morning and that's where the two have ended up.

A group of tourists and their guide stand slack jawed as they watch the Princess go toe to toe with the Dowager Queen.

Eleanor sees them first, and she's seething. She storms off in the opposite direction, her boots clicking rhythmically off of the marble floor as she goes.

Two days later, Helena admits defeat, and Eleanor gets her way.

* * *

Eleanor's hired a party planner to help, but she's determined to do most of the decorating herself. She knows that Joanna will never remember the party, but the sentiment _needs_ to resonate. It has to.

She wants her daughter to know that she _tried_.

So she sits exhausted, watching her daughter tumble around the garden with other children, acting like true _children_ , as several adults look on as if they're not quite sure what to make of the situation.

Her mother's torn between keeping her mouth shut like Eleanor has told her to do, and telling the children to act like the royalty and upper class citizens that they are.

"You're enjoying this too much," Jasper quips, pushing a plastic cup of punch into her hands. She sniffs it, hoping he's laced it for her.

He hasn't.

Eleanor shrugs and takes a drink, and then sputters. It's pure sugar.

"Willow's pregnant again," she comments quietly. "Liam will have his heir and spare. He doesn't know yet, she's going to tell him tonight."

His hand tenses on her shoulder because he knows what this means for her.

If Eleanor's out, then Joanna's definitely out.

She's free.

"We can move out, you know," Eleanor tilts her head back to look at him. "We have property elsewhere in the city we can live that's just as private as this is, if not more. Or the country."

"Maybe after the wedding," he says lightly, his eyes flicking briefly over to their daughter who's got Simon pinned on the grass. " _OI! JOANNA_!" he suddenly bellows across the lawn.

In the months that he's been back in England, Jasper's accent has gone all wonky again and he's picked up on far too many British euphemisms. Liam teases him about it mercifully. Eleanor finds it endearing.

Joanna shoots off Simon like someone's lit a fire under her, laughing as Simon's back on his feet, chasing after her.

"Mm, yes," she groans. "Alright, then. Six months. We're doing it."

Jasper pulls out his phone and scrolls through the calendar. "November," he says, "...20th? It's a Saturday, babe."

"Whatever," she waves her hand, indicating she's done with the conversation. He catches it in his, and slowly brings it up to his lips.

"Why are you so cranky today? I thought you'd be in a good mood," he murmurs, sitting down on the bench next to her. Eleanor lays her head on his chest and makes herself comfortable against him. He's still holding onto her hand.

"Well excuse me! I've been up since six, working on this," she snaps, gesturing to the party, "while _you_ decided to have a lie in with the baby."

"Not my fault she wanted to sleep with me," he fires back. "You're too bony to cuddle. I don't blame her."

"Fuck yourself, Jasper," she sighs.

"I love you, too," he says, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and presses his lips to the top of her head.

He's still far from perfect. He's still arrogant and slightly controlling.

She has none of it. Nobody can put Jasper Frost in his place, except for her.

She's still pretentious and mouthy, and he's the only one besides Liam with enough balls dish the clapback right back to her.

But it's their dynamic, and they love each other. They love their daughter, and are both dead-set on making sure she knows it.

There isn't much they don't agree on, but ensuring that their daughter doesn't have the same upbringing that they were both subjected to- on both ends of the spectrum- is something they put up a united front for.

They're finally genuinely happy.

And that's more than enough.


End file.
